


Chivalry Fell on its Sword

by LadyOrpheus



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Regency, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, M/M, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-01
Updated: 2020-12-01
Packaged: 2021-03-09 21:07:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,120
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27812767
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyOrpheus/pseuds/LadyOrpheus
Summary: "Once upon a time Caleb had been able to navigate such events with ease. Once upon a time he had borne an air of self-importance, borne the attentions of the tonne with poise, borne a different name entirely, but no longer. The Caleb Widogast ensconced in the Lavorre Estate’s library was altogether a poorer version of the young man from once upon a time. Poorer in standing, in wealth, in respectability. If he did not think it poor manners to turn down the invitation of his one and only benefactor and employer Caleb would have just as soon declined."A Critical Role Regency AU
Relationships: Beauregard Lionett/Yasha, Essek Thelyss/Caleb Widogast, Fjord/Jester Lavorre
Comments: 15
Kudos: 68





	Chivalry Fell on its Sword

**Author's Note:**

> A.k.a the Shadowgast Regency AU that no one asked for.

The Ruby of the Sea did not attend parties. She hosted them. While any other lady of standing might have found herself ostracized for such behavior, Marchioness Marion Lavorre’s supreme talent, wealth, and grace ensured that this made her an enticing curiosity rather than an antisocial oddity. Her balls were the toast of the tonne and to secure an invitation to one was to secure a successful start to the season. Nobles from all corners of the Menagerie Coast and the Empire flocked to the shores on their way into town, no matter that she was far out of their way in Nicodranas and not Rexxentrum.

“It will be the perfect place to reintroduce you!” The young Lady Genevieve Lavorre insisted. 

Indeed, Mr. Caleb Widogast found it most difficult to persuade his pupil to focus on anything else. Though exceptionally bright, the young Lady Genevieve—“Jester. Lady Genevieve is for boring people”—Jester never could sit through an hour’s lesson without inventing one distraction or another. And nothing was quite as distracting as the preparations for a ball and Jester’s latest divertisment.

“It will be so beautiful, Caleb!” Caleb never did manage to impress upon her the impropriety of using his given name. “And mama says they will play all my favorite dances and I shall have a full dance card and all the punch I can drink.”

“And many a fortune hunter to fend off,” he said only partly in jest.

This earned him a soft thwack from Jester’s fan. “Oh, Mr. Widogast,” she called him Mr. Widogast easily enough when she was annoyed with him, “no one likes a cynic.”

“Then perhaps cynics should not attend balls if we are such poor company. Better for everyone involved.”

Caleb’s logic did not deter the young lady. Despite his best attempts to steer the conversation back to Dwendalian history and the past and current tensions with Xhorhas, Jester continued to drift off into her ball daydreams and her schemes for Caleb Widogast’s grand reintroduction to society, no matter how little the subject of her scheme wished to be reintroduced.

Once upon a time Caleb had been able to navigate such events with ease. Once upon a time he had borne an air of self-importance, borne the attentions of the tonne with poise, borne a different name entirely, but no longer. The Caleb Widogast ensconced in the Lavorre Estate’s library was altogether a poorer version of the young man from once upon a time. Poorer in standing, in wealth, in respectability. If he did not think it poor manners to turn down the invitation of his one and only benefactor and employer Caleb would have just as soon declined. He certainly did not desire the type of fanfare Jester had in mind no matter how persuasive she could be.

Jester did manage to persuade him to abandon their book lessons for dance lessons, however. There was only so much of Jester Lavorre’s beguiling charm one man could resist afterall. The tonne was not prepared for her. As she smiled and twirled around him, guileless and carefree, Caleb could only hope that she was prepared for the tonne.

A soft clapping from the doorway announced the presence of the lady of the house. “Brava, my little sapphire! A bright jewel indeed.” Lady Marion Lavorre had not yet donned the elegant gown she would wear that evening, but she was no less resplendent in a simple, high-necked morning dress. The deep red skin and hair that had earned her the pseudonym Ruby of the Sea was all the decoration she required to strike equal parts passion and envy among her peers.

“Mama!” Jester ran to her mother; she briefly remembered herself and managed to curtsey hastily before she embraced her.

The Marchioness merely laughed. “It seems Mr. Widogast has managed to impress on you some manners afterall.”

“Your Ladyship.”

“Mr. Widogast. I hope you are not having second thoughts about our little gathering tonight. I have taken the liberty of having some potential attire delivered for you.”

The Lady Lavorre was a highly perceptive woman. The secrets of the upper crust of society were no secrets to her keen eye. It was said she could judge the character of a man, his intentions, and measurements from fifty paces. Excepting that Caleb believed Lady Lavorre had gravely overrated his character, it appeared Caleb was no exception to this rule. She no doubt could read his foul thoughts around the ball in the breadth of his shoulders all while also noting the cut of his waist and jacket.

“I only hope my presence shall not reflect poorly on the host.”

Later, in the small apartment the Lavorres provided to him, Caleb debated this very fear. Had he not worried that his own means prevented him from presenting himself in a way that matched the standing of his benefactor, what remained of Caleb’s pride would have insisted he turn down such a generous gift. The elegant black tailcoat that was waiting in his rooms was far too fine for the likes of him. Coupled with the fine red cravat, crisp new shirt, black pantaloons, and gleaming leather boots Caleb knew from old experience that the ensemble likely cost more money than he had yet made from his tutoring or would stand to make for the foreseeable future. Only the thought of embarrassing his hosts with the fraying coat he’d needed the housekeeper to repair again only just last week kept Caleb’s protestations in check. He was already irreparably in the Lavorres’ debt, what difference would a little more make? As loathe as he was to dress up for any occasion, Caleb was forced to admit the deep black with accents of red suited him as best as any evening wear could.

By the time he had made himself presentable the unfashionably ontime guests had begun to arrive and the ladies of the house were already holding court by the grand staircase. Jester was most pleased with his new ensemble. “Oh I told mama it would be perfect!” The young lady looked every bit the part of the young ingénue in a pale pink gown and long satin gloves. She was displeased to find that Caleb had deftly avoided making a grand entrance, but somewhat mollified when she managed to convince him to ask for her first dance: a simple quadrille to encourage parties to the dance floor. "I wonder if I might convince the orchestra to play a waltz." Jester mused with a mischievous glint in her eye. Caleb managed to extract himself to the fringes of the ballroom before any waltzing and before his pupil could implement any other sort of grand mischief regarding his anonymity and did his best to blend in with the wallpaper or else look as sullen and unapproachable as possible.

Caleb could not help but allow a smile to crack his dour facade when two diminutive figures approached him in his self imposed exile. The Brenattos were something of social outcasts themselves and always fine company to keep in any setting. Mrs. Veth Brenatto was from a working class family of no standing. Those with cruel tongues called her simple, a country bride. Those who deigned to speak with her for more than a moment quickly learned she was not so simple after all and that her tongue was as razor sharp as her wit. Mr. Yeza Brenatto was respectable enough as a scientist and man of some means. He was, however, entirely smitten with his wife--a most unfashionable offense in the eyes of the tonne.

"Mr. Widogast!" Mr. and Mrs. Brenatto called and waved. Caleb had to wince slightly at the shouting though he was grateful for a distraction and a shield from strangers.

"It has been some time since we've seen you down at the university, Mr. Widogast. You simply must come visit this season. I am giving a lecture on my latest alchemical research."

Perhaps the very best thing about Mr. And Mrs. Brenatto was that they, like Caleb, had little patience for feigned niceties or inane small talk. It was far more enjoyable to engage with them on the alchemical formula of their latest experiment than to listen again and again as the partygoers remarked on the number of dancers or observed the pleasantness of the weather in Nicodranas. 

To avoid any appearance of rudeness Caleb led Veth in another dance, earning the ire of some of the other couples as they continued to converse on the scientific rather than change to a more publicly palatable topic. After their reel he begged off another and instead watched as Mr. Brenatto stepped in for a waltz. It seemed Jester got her wish afterall. Caleb noted however, that the young lady herself looked less than pleased at her waltz partner: a lord in a fine coat, but decades her senior. 

Caleb had every intention of swooping in and saving her from the supper set with the gentlemen, but before the shuffling of partners could take place a hush fell over the ballroom as all eyes turned to the entrance. 

There stood three elegant drow, a striking ensemble of deepest patterned purple and black on each that stood out like a bruise on pale flesh amongst the demure dresses and solid tailcoats. Each was decorated with a dizzying array of jewelry—silver and diamonds—but none more so than the woman at the center whose neck was entirely encircled in gems and her long snow white hair danced with strands of jewels held up by a delicate silver circlet. The two young men who flanked her on either side wore their hair unfashionably short by Empire standards. But then it did not take a scholar to see that these were Xhorhasians and anyone who did not instantly know soon heard the whisper of it echo through the ballroom. "Lady Deirta, Umavi of Den Thelyss and Lords Essek and Verin of Den Thelyss," they were announced as. 

Their gracious hostess betrayed no discomfort as she approached the new guests, though the crowd continued to whisper.

"Oh my!"

"Cricks? Here?"

The Ruby's voice cut through them all. "You are most welcome Lady Deirta, my Lords. How kind of you to join us on your way to the capitol."

Lady Deirta's response was cool but polite, "And how kind of you, Lady Lavorre, to offer such support to our diplomatic endeavors. Allow me to introduce you to my sons."

As simple as breathing the spell over the crowd had been broken. Talk began again in earnest, alight with a rare breed of political gossip. "A diplomatic contingent? Do you think they're going to surrender?"

"Perhaps they mean to form an alliance through marriage."

"I've never met a drow before."

Nicodranas, as a seaport, was home and destination to all sorts of colorful characters. It was part of what attracted Caleb there in the first place—one stranger among many was less likely to make waves. Lady Lavorre especially attracted a variety of visitors from all nations. However, Xhorhasians—and especially the elusive drow—were a rarity indeed. As echoed by Mr. Brenatto’s whispered, “Oh my, that’s certainly not a sight you see everyday, is it Mr. Widogast? Mr. Widogast?” 

Caleb did not hear him. Already his mind was whirring with the possibility. Could peace be truly possible? Perhaps everything he had worked for, struggled for, suffered for, was not in vain after all. He found his gaze fixed on the party of drow. Watched eagerly as the Marchioness introduced all three to Jester, who remembered to curtsey appropriately and flashed them a charming if unladylike grin. 

The two young men were likewise introduced—Essek and Verin—though Caleb was not sure which one was which. Clearly brothers they might very well be twins such was the resemblance. On closer inspection there were slight, but noticeable differences. The brother to Lady Deirta’s right was shorter, his silver jewelry more embellished, his deep purple coat a slimmer cut. The bottom of his hair was shorn close, the top styled and coiffed. The brother to the left was broader, but less decorated. His hair appeared short on first glance, but when he bent to kiss Jester’s delicately gloved hand he revealed a long braid running down to his shoulder blades. Both had severe, sharp features—same as their mother—but neither were like anything Caleb had ever seen grace a ballroom before.

It was Mrs. Brenatto who broke his reverie. “Why, not what we’re used to, but dare I say rather handsome all the same,” she chuckled to herself and patted Mr. Brenatto’s arm. “Oh don’t you worry, dear. I’m only observing. Come, dance the supper set with me.”

Across the ballroom, one of the Thelyss brothers offered his arm to his mother and they took to the dance floor. The other had managed to claim the young Lady Lavorre for the supper set, much to the consternation of several eager gentlemen. In the crush of dancers and the move to supper Caleb took the opportunity to slip away and let his thoughts be his only companion.

Habit took him to the library. From it, Caleb could still hear the din of the party but could not pick out the individual snippets of gossip from the avalanche. He sat out supper surrounded by muffled sounds and books. Though Lady Lavorre had granted him leave to peruse the collection at his leisure he was not of a mind to read for once, only to think. A drow diplomatic contingent was a promising sign, surely, that there was hope yet for peace. What price the peace might come at was still unclear. What more could they demand after all Caleb had done?

Caleb counted the minutes that he might best judge the moment to make his excuses to the Lady of the House and retreat to his rooms. There was much to think on. Perhaps he ought to write to—

His thoughts were interrupted as one of the Xhorhasian representatives swung open the door and sent light streaming into the dark library. “Ahah! I thought I would find you—oh. I’m terribly sorry, sir, I was looking for someone else.” It was the brother who had managed to snare the supper set with Jester. 

Recovering as best he could, the drow bowed, his braid swinging, “Lord Verin Thelyss, at your service.” So this one was Verin. And the slimmer, shorter brother was Essek.

“Mr. Caleb Widogast at yours."

"Ah, you are Zemnian?"

Caleb cursed his accent. It was something he'd never been able to shake, however long he'd been away. He only nodded in acknowledgement.

"What can you tell me of the Empire, Mr. Widogast? I'm afraid although it is my destination I know so little of its customs and people."

Verin smiled as he spoke. He seemed bright eyed and genuine but quite all at once Caleb was seized with fear. No matter that these visitors were diplomats. No matter that they might herald peace he was assaulted on all sides by calls of "traitor, traitor, traitor" until there was no room left in the library for air.

"Mr. Widogast? Are you quite well?"

" _Nein._ I—I mean no I'm. I'm afraid I stepped away to compose myself but, I'm quite unwell if you would excuse—"

"Please, sit, you've gone quite pale."

Caleb had little choice but to obey. He sunk into one of the plush armchairs in the dark and tried to will his own thoughts back under control. The curse of a head always filled with thoughts—Caleb never had figured out an effective way of banishing the unwanted ones.

"Let me fetch you something to drink."

Before Caleb could protest, his new acquaintance headed back to the door. Caleb could hear the young lord stop short outside just outside, however. "Essek! There you are." The other brother. And perhaps one of the last people Caleb wished to encounter as he was now: in danger of fainting and beleaguered by his own mind.

"What ever are you doing, Verin?" The voice was sharp and unforgiving.

"Why, looking for you, brother. Thought you had taken your chance to slip away during the chaos at dinner. You know mother would have the both of us by our ears if we did not make nice."

Essek's response: "There is no one here worth knowing, what is the use?"

As usual it seemed the only remedy for the unwanted thoughts in Caleb's head was to replace them with others. He bristled at the dismissive tone. Not for himself, never himself. But for his dearest, dare he call them friends. For his generous patroness, his young pupil, the Brenattos. No one worth knowing indeed.

"Come now, Essek, surely you found Miss Lavorre quite diverting in her antics. And her mother was most welcoming to complete strangers from the Dynasty. That she sent the invitation at all speaks most highly–"

"They are Lady Lavorre and Lady Genevieve, brother, and you would do best to remember that. No matter that the mother is a recluse and the daughter a disgrace. That does not mean we can forget our manners or the value the Empire places on such titles."

Caleb had heard enough. A man preaching manners though he clearly had none, insulting the kindest women of Caleb's acquaintance. No more. He rose from the armchair and stepped into the hall behind the younger—and in Caleb's estimation the superior Thelyss brother. He took small pleasure from the way both startled and turned to face him. 

Immediately Lord Essek Thelyss narrowed his eyes at Caleb and shot a sharp look to his brother. "Who is this, Verin?" Dare he even suspect his own brother of some sort of scandalous dalliance in the dark corners of the house? 

Though the other Thelyss made the motions of making an introduction Caleb interrupted, "No one worth knowing." He relished the sharp intake of breath he received as a response. He did not linger, only looked Lord Essek Thelyss in the eye as he brushed past both drow and disappeared back down the hall and the throng of people beyond.

Head still full of bitter thoughts and indignation it took a moment for Caleb to realize that the swell of gossip around him had shifted. No more were the masses fascinated by the newcomers. It seemed as though there had been quite the scandal during supper.

"And then she dumped the punch right in his lap!"

"I saw it for myself!"

"Lord Sharpe was furious."

"There will be hell to pay for the lady, mark my words."

Oh, Jester. Caleb thought. What have you done?

**Author's Note:**

> I'm @LadyOrpheus on all socials. Come scream about my favorite asshole drow with me!


End file.
